


I'm Hype For the Critical Beatdown

by Gala_and_Elle, gala_apples, theletterelle



Series: Slantverse [28]
Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, Alternate Universe - High School, Consensual Violence, Fighting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-21
Updated: 2011-09-21
Packaged: 2017-11-14 03:21:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/510782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gala_and_Elle/pseuds/Gala_and_Elle, https://archiveofourown.org/users/gala_apples/pseuds/gala_apples, https://archiveofourown.org/users/theletterelle/pseuds/theletterelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Gerard hurts, Frank wants to hurt too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Hype For the Critical Beatdown

**Author's Note:**

> **Prompt used:** In public for kink bingo. Title from "Critical Beatdown" by Ultramagnetic MCs.

There’s only so much a person can self-flagellate. At some point it just loses its potency. That point is apparently six am on a Sunday, after spending hours trying to find any Mikes that live in Virginia on Facebook. It’s at least the fifth time in, and everyone in the house is lucky Dad isn’t saying shit about the thumping, because Frank seriously could not handle that on top of everything else. Maybe it’s the exhaustion, but the pressure and the pain aren’t doing anything for him. He’s not dropping into subspace. He’s not even hard. Maybe it’s just that when he’s just flinging himself at the walls of his closet there’s no one to watch. He’s gotten used to having people watch.

The obvious solution is to go to a club. Someone could take him down in front of a jovial audience, keep him down until he was bruised and maybe even bleeding and covered in his own come. A month ago he wouldn’t have, but he wouldn’t have for different reasons. Now he won’t because he doesn’t want some random stranger. He wants Matt. He’s not in love, that’s stupid. Any love from a sub to a dom quickly turns into worship, and no fucking mortal is Frank Iero’s god. But he only wants to have sex, have orgasms, have fights with Matt. His closet does not provide a Matt.

Exhausted, but still burning with righteous anger, Frank opens the closet door and heads to the bathroom for a shower. He notices the bruises developing, but there aren’t as many as there used to be, and they aren’t very big. The last time he pushed Matt, he got a bruise that spread from his ass halfway to his knee. It was muscle-deep, and the hurt lasted for a week and a half. He wants that. He wants more than that. Frank scrubs at his body, wiping water out of his gritty eyes, and calculates the best way to get it.

His chance comes at lunch the next day. Gerard is sitting beside him, head in his hands, slumped over like a melted snowman. His hair hangs in greasy strings around his ears. He’s quiet for once, and everyone around them is trying to get him to talk. If it wasn’t clear before, it’s obvious now that something is really, really wrong.

“Hey, Gee,” says Pete. “You want some cookies? They got snickerdoodles. Sisky, go get him some snickerdoodles.”

Sisky gets up, but “Not hungry,” says Gee wearily. Sisky sits back down.

Brendon comes up behind Gerard and hugs him. Gerard lets it push him over further. “You’ll find someone new,” Brendon says, face earnest. “You’re awesome! There are like a million doms who would love you. Do you want Spencer? I don’t mind sharing him, and seriously, he’s like the best dom ever.” Gerard doesn’t respond, so Brendon lets go and tiptoes back to Spencer’s side.

Tom’s the next to dare a comment. “Mike probably wasn’t that good in bed anyway. I bet every dom at this table would do a better job. Whenever you’re ready to start getting off again, I could do a few one offs.”

Gabe glances at Nate for a second. Nate tilts his head, and that’s enough of an answer for Gabe. “Me or Victoria would be a temp dom, if you want.”

“I’d give it a go,” Travis offers. Frank refrains from rolling his eyes. Normal Gerard wouldn’t put up with Travis’ slant for a hot minute. But it’s good of him to suggest, he guesses.

“You want me to text Joanie? She likes to hold people down,” Mikey offers. Gerard doesn’t say anything. “Or Pete, who was the guy that was really into dirty talk?”

“Uh, Serge, I think? The one at Black Belt?”

“Yeah. So, how about Serge? He's into dirty talk, he's got this accent-”

Gerard goes from husk of a man to raging in a second flat. “I don’t want to fuck any of the five hundred thousand people that have had their dick in you!”

It’s not the slut implication that bothers Mikey. It’s hard to piss people off with the truth; it’s not like Butcher would be horrified if someone called him a pain queen. Frank knows Mikey’s upset because he made Gerard feel worse, not better. Frank would feel the same way. It’s why he spent the weekend in his room, instead of at the Way’s. Ray suggested it Friday, when they were sitting in his car in Frank’s driveway, drinking. Ray slept in his car, a little bit because he didn’t want to drink and drive, mostly so he could make sure Frank didn’t try to take dad’s car out before he actually thought about what he was doing. He was right, too. He and Mikey made things worse with that cunt Molko. Frank doesn’t want to do that again.

Mikey doesn’t mutter sorry. He doesn’t need to, the word is leaking out every pore. Gerard looks at him a second. His guilt is just as obvious. No one says anything, no one wants to risk making it worse. It takes a minute for Gerard to drop his face into his hands. A moment after that he’s standing and storming off. No one follows him. Pete starts trying to cheer Mikey up, telling him Gerard’s not mad at him, he’s just gotta be mad at someone, and Mikey won’t leave like Pedicone did, so he’s a good target. It just reinforces the idea that the only way to make things right is to find the fucker and confront him.

Frank’s feelings are killing him. They’re overwhelming enough that if they were liquid he’d be drowning a hundred times over. His body is already out of the chair before his brain figures out why. He’s halfway across the caf before Travis is telling him to sit the fuck down, getting suspended isn’t going to help anything. Like Gerard, Frank is not the kind of sub that needs a Travis to boss him around. He keeps walking.

Matt’s sitting at his usual table with Rose, Miguel, Marisa and Bryan. He has his back to Frank, which is good. Frank comes striding up behind him and slams his hand into the back of Matt’s head. Matt yells, taken by surprise, and spins around, which is perfect, because then Frank can sock him in the jaw.

“Holy shit!” yelps Bryan. Matt doesn’t waste time with words, just stands up, grabs Frank’s wrist and twists, forcing Frank down on his knees and his arm up behind his back. Frank jerks, but only manages to force the joint further. Good.

Matt’s voice is under control, but barely. “What the hell, Frank.”

“Your friends are stupid,” Frank wheezes. “ _You’re_ stupid. You’re a jerk, and you wear shitty clothes, and your music sucks, and I fucking hate you! And you... suck!”

The teacher on caf duty is coming up to their table. Matt waves. “It’s okay, it’s okay. All under control. Just a misunderstanding.” He jerks on Frank’s arm. “Right, Frank?”

“Right,” Frank grits out. The teacher folds his arms. “Let him up, Cortez.”

Matt looks a warning at Frank, who gets up but doesn’t attack again. He doesn’t need to. He’s made his point. The teacher nods and walks away.

“Come with me.” Matt jerks Frank to his feet and drags him over to Gerard’s table.

Before Matt can say a word, Travis raises his hands in a gesture of placation. “Don’t look at us, we told him to not go over.”

“What the fuck happened to Frank that he wants me to beat him?”

“Gerard's boyfriend left on Friday without telling him face to face. He just texted him from the highway.”

Frank doesn’t pay attention to who says it. He’s busy trying to figure out if he raises their hands and bites Matt’s wrist, will it move the scene forward. A slap would be nice. He didn’t figure on Matt interrogating his friends, just thought Matt would get straight to the action.

Gabe smirks “Frank and Gerard share a soul. Gerard’s pain is his pain.”

Pete shakes his head. “No, that’s Mikey and Gerard.”

“Not soulmates with my brother. Don’t be weird.” The statement is accompanied with Mikey wrinkling his face.

“As I’m sure you’ve figured out by now, Frank doesn’t deal well with inner turmoil. So yeah, we told him to not go bother you, but we all knew we were full of crap. Enjoy.”

“Enjoy. Right.”

“Don’t front. You like hitting him as much as he likes being hit.”

Frank would snicker, except he doesn’t really want Matt pissed off at Pete. If Matt gets distracted Frank might not get what he wants. Needs. So instead of giving Matt time to glare, he leans over and sinks his teeth into Matt’s forearm.

The hand on his wrist squeezes tighter. Frank feels one layer of angst slip off him like onion skin. There’s so much left part of him is scared even Matt can’t fix it. The vast majority of him tells that part to shut up and focuses on the way Matt’s overlapping thumb and index finger are pinching his skin.

“I’ll see you guys later.” Unlike Matt, Frank doesn’t bother with a polite goodbye. He doesn’t care right now. He can’t possibly care about anything else right now, or he will fucking explode.

Matt has a longer stride than he does, leaving Frank to hurry or fall on his face. If he did, Matt would probably still not let go, just continue to drag him down the hall. They don’t stop at Jimmy’s; Matt just continues walking until they’re outside.

Matt jerks Frank along until they reach the bleachers. There’s a gym class going on, students running laps around the field while the lacrosse team runs drills. Under the bleachers, though, there are the perpetual stoners. Every school has them; kids who escape classes or study hall to relax and smoke up for a while. If no one comes after them, no one will come after Matt and Frank either.

Matt tosses Frank to the ground. He hits it with a grunt and looks up at Matt, backlit by the sun. Frank squints. “You are such a fuckhead,” says Matt conversationally. “All you had to do was ask.” He takes a step forward and kicks Frank in the ribs.

Frank lets out a whuff of air. Matt follows it up with another kick, this one to Frank’s thigh, and it’s so hard the muscle seizes up. Frank yells, which only encourages Matt to pull him up by the collar and slam a fist into his stomach. It’s not so powerful it could damage him, but it’s hard enough. Frank has to roll over on his side to catch his breath. Matt lets him, but when he’s breathing normally again, Matt kicks his shoulder to roll him on his stomach, and puts his foot on the back of Frank’s neck. Frank knows enough not to move.

“I’m sorry,” says Matt, “that your friend got hurt. It sucks. But it’s no excuse to come over and whale on me. You want me to beat you, fine, I have no problem with that. But you do not _fucking_ start by hitting me. Not anymore. Understand?”

“Fuck you,” grunts Frank, hoping for another kick. He doesn’t get it. Matt sighs. “Fine. Let’s see how this works.” He hauls Frank up by the hair.

One of the stoners comes stumbling out from under the bleachers. “Hey.” He shoves his hair back from his face. “Hey, is this consensual? Cause if it’s not, that’s really not cool.”

“Go away,” snaps Matt.

The stoner comes closer. “Seriously. I’ll get, I’ll totally get the teacher. Seriously.”

Now on his feet, Frank scowls at the guy. “Go away. You heard the man.”

“But is it--”

“ _Yes,_ ” snaps Frank. “Get out!”

“Okay.” The guy walks back under the bleachers. “Just making sure.”

Matt slaps Frank once, then catches him again on the backhand. From under the bleachers, there’s a cheer. Frank tastes blood and grins. It’s just like a club. Only better. His cock stirs in interest.

Matt knocks Frank to the ground, and every time Frank gets back up, Matt knocks him down again. Each time, Frank’s dick gets harder. Every time he hears the cheers and hoots behind him, he wants to drop his pants, get Matt to nail him in the balls, and come all over his shoes.

It’s not to be though, because Matt is a prick. When Frank is too tired to do anything but lie in the grass -though it’s really more dirt with the occasional clump of weeds from being trampled so often- Matt bends down and looks him straight in the face. If he had more energy he could probably kick Matt in the stomach, but he doesn’t. “Five seconds to stand up, or I’ll help.”

Undoubtedly, it’s not the kind of action most of the stoned onlookers would classify as help. Frank thinks about it for maybe two of the five seconds left, then stands. Every inch of skin burns. If he was naked he’d bet at least half of him would be the kind of red that turns to navy-grey. It’s a fucking turn on. He leans in and stands tiptoed for a biting kiss, and gets a shove in the chest that propels him back several feet.

“You really think you’re coming before you apologize to my friends?”

Frank didn’t think about it at all, actually. Right now’s probably not the time to say that though. He’s firmly in the land of Enough, much more drives them into Too Much. Matt starts back towards the school. There’s really no choice but to follow. The stoners that follow him are a bunch of voyeur jerkoffs though.

Lunch is nearly over, but all four are still at their table. “Sorry.” A glance over to Matt shows it’s not enough. “Sorry Rose. Sorry Marisa. Sorry Miguel. Sorry Bryan.” He looks at Matt. “Good enough?”

“What are my friends not?”

“Uh. Jerkoffs?”

“No.”

“I don’t remember what I said! Come on Matt, don’t be a prick. They know I didn’t mean any of that shit.” Frank would really fucking like to get off now. Grovelling is _not_ part of his slant, but he’d do whatever to get off, and the crowd of people seeing him erect and swollen from Matt’s beating are making him even more turned on. Humiliation is a stupid word, but there’s something about Ryan’s slant that he gets.

The semi circle of stoners start throwing out insults, helpful to the core. “Douche!” “Douche _nozzle_!” “Asshole!” “Moron!” “Shithead!” “Stupid!”

Matt’s foot grinds down against his. Frank’s first impulse is to swear and hit him. Then he realises it’s a hint. “Sorry Bryan, Miguel, Rose, Marisa for calling you stupid.”

Rose looks up at Matt. “What happens if we don’t forgive him?”

Matt shrugs. “Guess he doesn’t get to come for a while.”

“Oh come on!” Frank explodes. Matt frowns. Frank looks back to Rose pleadingly. “I’m really sorry, okay? Like, super sorry. _Unbelievably_ sorry. Okay?”

The bell rings before Rose can answer. “God _dammit_ ,” Frank seethes. But in the noise and confusion of a hundred kids leaving the caf at once, there’s no one who notices Matt knee Frank in the groin. No one notices Frank fall to his knees and shudder, one hand wrapped around Matt’s ankle. And no one notices the two of them leave the caf together, Frank limping, Matt holding him up with an arm around his shoulders.


End file.
